Displacement
by chibi-emily
Summary: The castle is gone... freedom is achieved. So...what now?


**Author Comments**: ooooh, Ico fic. A first for me! I'm really not sure I'll finish it (ano..I have a Fruits Basket fic I'm supposed to be finishing up! xD) but I got this first chapter written up..and I like it, so I figured, what the heck - let's post it! And if I finish it I finish it..and if I don't I don't. Not as though I've cuncocted some intricate storyline for you to have gotten all enveloped in just yet anyhoo xD

I could talk more about my inspiration for it and crap, but then again I could write an entire chapter about that. Let's just say I needed to write this to make me feel better about the ending of the game, somehow. It didn't give me quite enough closure. Because I'm used to closure, and Ico had...very little closure. Too many questions still floating around. Like what the crap was with that entire castle! Ahhh!

Haha but now I'm bordering on writing that chapter for you. So I'll just up. Anything left to do? Ah yes, disclaimer. I'll say this once, and only once: in this fic, there are a totally of two characters; I own neither of them. Considering you were playing one of them and leading the other around all freaking game (erm, I'm assuming most of you have played Ico?) you should probably know this :3

Now :ahem: moving on...

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All she knew was that she was very cold. She felt lost; alone. She felt purposeless, too, as though she were drifting aimlessly, no cause or direction to what life she had left. She wasn't even sure she had that anymore, not with the way things were cold and numb and flowing.

All of a sudden the cold numbness left her, if only for a short moment. She expected to roll back in her drifting pattern as she'd done so many times since she could remember, but instead she felt the cold numbness drifting off of her as she would have expected to move herself, and it left her against something smooth and warm and wet. She could still feel the cold numbness lapping against her, though, threatening to pull her back to drifting again, threatening to take away the newfound purpose which was this warm, smooth, wetness that she'd already grown to love.

The warmth faded ever so slightly, and for the first time in her memory she felt the sensation of sight. Things were black and splotched of unseen color, yet variance could be detected, that rung in her mind as the signs of movement, made apparent to her by the shadow which made the splotches of unseen color a little less red and blaring than they had been in the warm, wet sunlight.

"Yorda."

Sound now came to her much as the sight had, and she realized that there was so much to life she'd almost forgotten; there was more than cold numbness to occupy her senses. There were colors and light, and the sounds of the sea, and the voice of a friend.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly. She expected to have to squint, to be blinded by some irreproachable light, but she found her eyes perfectly adjusted. She'd been in this light much longer than she was aware of it.

In front of her was the tilted image of legs, and of a beach, and a face closed in from the side, looking complexly relieved yet worried, all in the same dramatically tear-strewn face. She recognized the face and smiled. This boy, she remembered, was her purpose. This boy was why she liked the feel of the warm, smooth, wetness that was the sandy beach below her. This boy was freedom, which she now knew, she'd finally achieved.

He reached out his hand to her, and she gladly took it, falling easily into the familiar gesture of the past few days. She wasn't sure how long she'd been aimlessly drifting, but it didn't matter; the memories of the aimless drifting were but a short dream, and the recent exploration of herself and this boy took hold of her memory bank, as though nothing else in the world mattered.

Once she was on her feet, they were both well-aware of eachother's instability. The boy's source was clear enough; clusters of scab hung mercilessly at the stubs on his head, and Yorda knew it wasn't good that he had so much burgundy staining his shirt. Her own instability she could only guess was from the numbness which still tingled her skin; the cold of the water and the weightless atrophy of aimless drifting had likely thrown off her balance.

In a mesh of instability they both clung tightly to each other, holding the other up until they regained their coordination. The boy murmured something to her, and Yorda could only look down to him and smile. It didn't take words to know that he was concerned; she hoped he didn't need words to know that she'd be all right. She couldn't say she knew this boy very well - and the fact that he spoke strange words to her didn't help - but his expression was sincere, and she knew he was a good person.

He had to have been, or he wouldn't be here on this beach, worried about her inability to stand.

She did eventually regain her coordination, though she wasn't sure how long a moment of embrace had to pass before she could venture out onto the sand without his support. It felt good once her feeling had returned, the tingles and numbness subsided, because she could be graceful again. She knew she was weak, and somewhat clumsy in that way, but gracefulness was her pride; she wanted to show the boy that she was still graceful, and she hoped he knew that he was still strong.

In her short exploration of the beach she walked up to the water's edge, now able to enjoy the soft padding of coldness against her feet, and she stared at where the castle had once been. It was nothing but cold, misty ocean now, and it was hard to believe that her dungeon had ever been there. She felt oddly displaced, staring back at the only world she'd ever known...gone. Though she was glad to be a prisoner no longer, she was frightened and overwhelmed to think that nothing she ever knew was still accessible to her. She was in a different world now, with a boy - however kind - which she'd only known a few days.

Yorda bowed her head, whispering softly to herself about her mother. Though she had been a prisoner with a fixed fate, her mother had never been cruel to her, and had never treated her as less than a blessing - although one which was to be held onto tightly and with stone fingers - and for that she was grateful. She had been treated like a daughter - at least, no different than she imagined most daughters were treated - and she did love her mother. At times she had even been looking forward to her fate - to serve her mother, and give her mother what she wanted. But in the end selfishness took over; she wanted to live.

Yorda had spent too much time in the chamber of sacrifices, her mother said. She looked at all the strange people with horns, locked in their cages, most of them contorted and deformed, none of them moving. Her mother had told her many times that she was free to roam the castle, if she swore to stay away from visitors that came and went.

There was only one visitor brought to her recollection, which she met. He was dark, and animate, and looked more like her than the others in their cages that were still. She tried to speak with the boy that was locked in the stone enclosure, but she couldn't understand his words. What she could understand, though, was that he was afraid. She knew he didn't want to be in that stone box, and she felt sympathy for him; Yorda felt trapped enough to roam in a castle, never to cross to the other side of the bridge. A tiny slit box was a terrible fate to meet.

The boy looked through the small slit in the box with heavy eyes, and she knew she had to set him free. Despite her most glorious efforts, she was too weak. She knew she pulled at the box for at least an hour, the boy sobbing on from within it. And she saw it move once, and she could still recall the jolt of ecstasy she felt, to know she was one step closer to setting someone free.

But the moment of ecstasy had ended, she remembered, when her mother set her hand coldly on her shoulder, effortlessly pushed the box back in place, and made the boy be still, just like all the others. Yorda managed to rip away from her bother to cast one last tear-strewn gaze into the vat, to see the boy look darker, and stranger, and she knew he was no longer alive.

Her mother yelled at her for the first time that day. And she roamed freely about the castle for the last. She'd disobeyed her mother, lost her trust, and for that she was detained, not to roam more than a few feet within her cage until this new boy came along to free her.

"Yorda."

She sniffed, realizing she'd started crying. So many strange memories and emotions in that castle. So much desolation. She turned to see the boy holding his hand out to her, looking worried. All she could do was smile and walk over to his hand to take it.

He lead her over to the face of the cliff, and they walked along the line of the earth for several minutes. She knew by now that the boy was just looking for a way to get them both up. He found it, or so she assumed, when he released her hand to clamor onto a foothold, and then onto a shelf she hadn't seen until he stood upon it. He knelt down, extending his hand to her. She faltered a moment, thinking it too high, but he called to her, and eventually she had to jump.

She slipped the first time, skidding back onto the warm sand, scuffing her knee a bit against the rough rocky dirt of the cliff. Looking down at the pinkened skin, she winced, and she wanted to shake her head and say she couldn't do it. But she looked back up to the boy's eyes - so sincere and wanting and hopeful - and she decided to try again.

She managed to catch the foothold this time, though entirely out of luck, and before she could slide back down she managed to make the final inch to the boy's hand. He slid forward, making Yorda's stomach jump with the sensation of falling again, but then he grappled his footing and pulled back, drawing her onto the ledge beside him.

They both cast a glance downward, noting the impressive 10 feet they'd just scaled.

And then they both cast a glance upward, nothing the impressive, immeasurable height they both had yet to climb.

And though Yorda's coordination had returned to her, she sensed that the boy wasn't back to 100 yet - he'd lost a lot of his life when his horns were taken from him.

Yorda gently reached over to touch one of the stumpy protrusions, suddenly a little curious about it. She'd always been, but the time to investigate curiosity never seemed to come in the castle. Now there was an overwhelming sense of freedom and time and Yorda felt the compulsion to ask questions.

The boy hissed at her and pulled back, and for a moment she felt rejected, until she realized she'd hurt him. His face had reddened suddenly, and his hand gently pressed against the stump, his eyes contorted in what was clearly pain. Yorda hung her head, ashamed that she'd brought that upon him.

She looked up again when his warm fingers mingled with hers, and her cheeks gained warm color at the sight of his smile. He shook his head like he didn't want her to touch his horns again, though, and she nodded, letting him know she understood.

With that they both stood again, and the boy walked to the other side of the small ledge, cast a glance around, and then motioned for Yorda to follow. She did so, and saw that the face of the cliff curved back, revealing what was sort of a narrow passageway, to what looked like a less steep hill upwards, although the going would still be tough.

The boy started to climb, but Yorda couldn't follow. There were too many narrow footholds, and she thought of the sand too many feet below, and she just knew she would slip and fall. So she hung back and watched the boy expectantly, hoping and trusting that he'd find another way to get her up.

To her surprise he disappeared over another ledge that had until then been hidden. He was out of sight, and she could only assume he was searching for a safer path for her to take.

He was gone for what felt like hours, and Yorda's gaze had already drifted back to the sea, where her home once was. She found herself wondering if his home was like hers; large and intricate, full of places to wonder, but devoid of things to do? Yorda had always contented herself with the gardens and the sounds of the birds - and with singing. She hoped where the boy was taking her would have birds.

She gasped and stood at the sound of a jingle, both out of surprise and apprehension. It had sounded right next to her ear, but as she looked about, she saw nothing. Part of her stomach had jumped as she thought of the shadows, and she was afraid that they'd drifted, too, and that they'd found her, and were going to take her back. She loved her mother, but she never could be at peace with the shadows. They frightened her, and above all else she feared the day she'd join them. Perhaps it was because she knew that would be the day her fate would be sealed; when she could no longer sing songs with the birds in the gardens, but rather her mother would roam in her body as she pleased. And as much as Yorda loved her mother and wanted to give her another life, Yorda wanted her own as well.

"Yorda."

The familiar call brought serenity to the jumpy girl, although she grew frustrated when again she looked and could see nothing. But the call continued, and eventually it changed to a quick "Aye!" like the boy was getting frustrated, too.

"Aye!" she repeated to the boy, hoping she was using his language correctly. She wasn't even sure if it was his language - it did almost sound like more of a noise than a word. But she was sure she was using it in the same meaning that he was, and so she hoped that would help them understand each other, to use eachother's words. Somehow.

She jumped lightly at the jingling, and again when she felt something cold and hard brush against her shoulder. She spun around, and there hung a chain, lowered just enough to brush against the ledge on which she stood. At last she thought to follow the chain and look up, and she smiled to see a familiar face looking back down to her. He made another noise, though, and jingled the chain again, making Yorda step back once more in surprise.

He made a louder noise after a moment, more distinct and definite, and she knew what he used was a word.

"Ompa," he said, and "Ompa," Yorda repeated, blinking dumbly, for she had no idea what she was saying. The boy shook his head, jingling the chain again, and again repeating the word.

"Ompa," he muttered, in a bit of a frustrated tone. Yorda gave him the best 'I'm-sorry' look she could muster, and he seemed to smile sympathetically.

"Ompa, eh." she said, shaking her head, hoping to get across the message that she just didn't understand. He disappeared behind the ledge again, and she hoped she hadn't offended him somehow. Did 'eh' mean something terrible? Surely it wouldn't?

Blinking roughly in surprise, she had to move out of the way as she heard the chattering of the chain and the sweeping motion it made as someone slid gracefully down. He landed a little heavily though, but shook it off easily enough.

"Ompa." he said decisively, grasping the chain with his hands. Yorda thought she might understand, but before she could show it, the boy took an extra measure to make sure. He grabbed her hand, saying "Ompa" again, and then forced her to wrap it around the chain. Yorda grasped the chain with her other hand as well, and looked to the boy, a questioning glance on her face.

"Ompa?" she asked, shaking her arms a moment to emphasize that she was grasping the chain firmly. He smiled, and nodded, and her heart lifted, because she understood.

She grew mildly confused, though, as he motioned for her to step aside, and he grabbed the chain, and started to climb.

"Ehh!" she yelled, shaking her head. She could barely pull herself onto a ledge; she couldn't for the life of her climb a chain.

He didn't stop, though. He just kept climbing, up and up - and it was a long way up - until he disappeared again over the top.

"Yorda!" it was her call this time. She knew it was her name, but she didn't know his, and she thought perhaps he would understand that she was calling, if she used the word just like he did.

A questioning face popped out over the ledge, and the boy blinked down to her confusedly. Yorda walked up and grasped the chain, as the boy had taught her to do a moment ago, but then she stepped back and waved her arms, shaking her head and sputtering "ehh," because she didn't think he understood that she couldn't climb the chain.

"Ompa." he said firmly, making the motion of holding the chain. Yorda hesitated, shaking her head, but he kept saying "Ompa" and calling her name if she'd look away. So she bit her lip and grasped the chain. She gasped and released it when it was yanked upwards, and the boy poked his head out from the ledge again.

"Ompa." he said again strongly. When Yorda seemed hesitant to do so, he stood in hopes that she could see his motions. He pointed down to her, and said "Ompa." again, making the motion of grasping the chain. Yorda hesitantly grasped it again, keeping her eyes focused on the boy. He made a motion like he was pulling on something that wasn't there. Yorda blinked, confused. So he pointed to himself, and to the chain, and then he repeated the motion. With one final gesture he pointed to Yorda, and then next to him on the ledge.

"Akad?" his voice lifted as he looked down to her, and she could tell it was a question. So couldn't quite figure out what it meant, though, so she just grabbed the chain, knowing well by now that it's what the boy wanted her to do.

She let out a squeal as she felt the chain yang upwards again, but the fervent call of "Ompa, ompa!" rang in her ears, and she thought that he might be angry with her if she let go.

She was dreading the moment that the chain lifted her off the ground, because she knew it was going to be hard to keep hold. She had her eyes clinched shut, and she saw herself slipping down the chain, hitting the back of her head on the corner of the ledge as she tumbled downward. But "Ompa!" kept right at her, letting her know that she had to keep her hold.

Her head did wrench when she felt her fingers slip, but to her surprise there was something supporting her. It hurt a little bit, to suddenly be putting pressure on such a small area, but there was a loop tied in the end of the chain, and she found her feet slipped into it without even realizing. Her skin did feel pinched by the links, but it washed the visions of falling out of her mind, and so it was well worth the discomfort.

When she was finally pulled to the top of the ledge, both of the children flopped to the ground, exhausted by the long haul that had taken place. Yorda thought she might not have as much right to be exhausted as the boy who had pulled her all the way up there, but her heart was still pounding from the anxiety she'd felt, the few times that she chain slipped in the boy's hands, and she thought she would fall.

She did catch her breath before he did, though, and she nimbly crawled over to him, blinking as she watched his chest heave and his fingers massage his palms, which were a bright, blistered pink. Her eyes blinked back to the chain, and she imagined that the discomfort she felt standing on it was nothing compared to the discomfort of pulling someone's weight on it. This boy was truly noble - he could have left her there to find her own way up. It wasn't what she would do, but then, she imagined, this boy must have more purpose to live than she did. Yet he was helping her along as though she was every bit as important as he was. It baffled her how he was so resolved to take care of her. But she was glad.

At last he sat himself up, though his finger still gently massaged his palms. Yorda, glad to see his energy returning, reached over and took his hands, giving his fingers a rest and massaging the pink for him. He smiled, and looked relaxed. Yorda was well aware that her hands were much softer than his, but it didn't bother her. She could see that she was giving him comfort, and that brought a smile to her lips as well.

Given the relaxed moment, the boy less winded but not exactly ecstatic to press on, she decided now might be a good time for rapport. He'd said a word she didn't understand, and she was curious about it. She wanted to learn his language so she could talk to him.

"Akad?" she said, trying to mimic the tone he'd used with it earlier. He looked confused for a moment, then shook his head.

"Eh." he said simply, and Yorda smiled. That was one word they both understood.

She tried again to learn something, seeing as the other word seemed to be a lesson for later in the journey. But this she thought should be simple. She pointed to herself, and said very plainly,

"Yorda."

He nodded, pointing to her, and repeated the name. So it was established that she was Yorda. She thought this had been established before, but she wanted to make sure.

"Yorda," she repeated, pointing to herself again, and then moving her finger over to the boy's chest, "Akad?" she thought she would guess, but the boy just smiled and shook his head, then rested his fingers on his chest.

"Ico." he said, "Yorda, Ico."

"Ico." Yorda smiled. She liked the name. Now successful, she thought she'd backtrack and try the other word again. "Akad?" This time Ico smiled and nodded, saying "Ta," but that only brought up more questions in Yorda's head. Perhaps this was enough for now. They were perhaps halfway up the cliff; there were sure to be more breathless ledges to follow.

The rest of the climb was easier, composed more of winding paths than ledges, and Yorda liked this much better. Balance was easy, so narrow paths were no problem.

There were still a few ledges, though, and by the time Ico pulled Yorda up onto the grassy plane at the top of the cliff, they were both very well-aquainted with each others' names, "ompa," and "eh." but that was about it, despite Yorda's multiple attempts to grasp what Ico had meant by "akad."

The two slouched on the grass for a while, reveling in the softness they felt after hours on the rough cliff wall. Ico was also very, very tired. he'd done a lot of lifting and pulling. Yorda was a little sore, but she imagined he felt much worse. He had to bear her burden of the strength so many times. She felt a little guilty, but there wasn't much to be done.

After a moment Ico stood and walked behind her, over towards where something like a depressed doorway stood, marking where she knew the bridge to the castle had once been. She didn't follow, enjoying the grass, and supposing he was just exploring out of boredom or some similar thing. When he called her name, though, she pushed herself to her feet to go join him.

She was almost aghast; the statues which once blocked entrance to the bridge were still there, but misshapen and deformed. Her first thought was that they looked like the broken children inside the stone vats in the large, empty room of sacrifices. Their figures were town and helpless, overtaken by something they feared.

But these were just statues, Yorda thought, and with a quick glance to Ico she perceived that he was thinking the same thing, too. It was strange how much emotion they held - fear, desolation, sorrow. She felt it, too. Looking at those statues was like embedding herself in the experiences of all of the children that had been brought to the castle over...who knows how many years. Her stomach lurched for them, and she wished she could have saved that boy -

Her thoughts stopped when she felt arms slip around her, a warm embrace pressing against her from the side. It warmed her whole body, bringing color to her skin, as she looked down to the boy, who held her close, like he was protecting her from those terrible statues.

She didn't need protection from them, though. They were victims in whatever made them misshapen like that. She wanted to see them glow again - to open for her as they always did. She wanted to see if she could help them, in a way that she wasn't able to do so many years ago.

Ico released her from the embrace when he felt her pulling away, but he kept hold of her hand and followed after her as she drifted towards the statues. He seemed hesitant to venture near them, but he wasn't holding Yorda back. perhaps he'd learned a bit about her as she had about him, just in running about the castle. And perhaps she'd managed to get across the message that her gut was rarely wrong; when she followed it, it was to an important cause. He had learned that, she was sure, because when she made a motion to lead Ico, he followed.

So stood at the center of the gate, simply staring into the contorted face of the statue. It was odd, thinking that it looked so strange; they had always looked strange, more like creatures than human, but they had never looked so unnatural - so violated. She never thought anything could look that repugnant - not even the shadows displeased her eyes so much as these.

Sighing and with a heavy heart, she placed her hand up to one of the statues, but felt nothing. They wouldn't open for her. They wouldn't even glow. She wanted to see them glow, just one last time, but they wouldn't even budge.

The warm embrace slipped around her again the instant she sniffed. She wanted to smile and shake Ico off, but she found herself sobbing into her own hands. It was really sinking in now - that things were going to be different. Even the front doors to her home didn't recognize her touch.

"Yorda.." was all Ico could find to say. But there was a deep and careful inflection, which got across without words that he felt sympathy for her, and that was the best she could ask for.

Exasperated, she gasped and turned to wrap her arms around him, fingers intertwining with his hair. She was careful to avoid the horns, though; if she was going to be selfish enough to steal him for comfort, she wasn't going to be so selfish as to hurt him along the way.

They stood there until time was no longer traceable. Yorda sobbed, and before long Ico was crying, too, soaking a tearstained puddle on the shoulder of her dress. There were no words that could describe the connection they felt, but they both understood why the other was crying, and neither one needed to discuss it. Yorda was sobbing because she was a stranger; Ico was sobbing because he knew this world all too well. If he hadn't taken the time to look at his fellow sacrifices, and see what demented souls they'd become, he could still recognize them, and he knew that could have been him. They were just statues before them, but they resembled what could have been him. Too eerily. Yorda knew that, too, and the fact that he wasn't was the one pleasant thought that crossed her mind.

Ico was the first to pull out of the hug, murmuring something under his breath. It was another word Yorda didn't know, but Ico made a hand motion towards the sky, which slowly fell into line with where the sun lay, clouded behind a mist of orange and gray. She didn't know the exact meaning of the word he'd murmured, but she was intuitive enough to now associate it with the passing of day.

Without another word Ico let Yorda brush the tears from her cheeks, and then tugged on her hand to lead her towards the large path leading into the woods. She heard a lurch rumble from his body, and she wondered if that didn't have something to do with his haste towards the forest. She looked over her shoulder one last time, to say goodbye to the tainted souls that had once been the guardians of her castle, and then followed Ico into the cold forest night.

Ico released her hand in a small thicket, and quickly and suddenly clamored up a nearby tree. Yawning, Yorda plopped herself onto a patch of shamrocks, picking one and studying it. Already she'd seen things that she never had before; inside the castle were trees and bushes and one-bladed grass. She'd never seen such a small bush before, or such oddly shaped grass - she wasn't sure what to call it. But she liked it. It was soft and intriguing, and brought a smile to her lips.

She drew in a quick gasp and stood when there was a sudden thump on the ground. Her head twitched this way and that, paranoia of the shadows striking at her again. She almost screamed when she saw a figure swipe in front of her eyes, but she relaxed when she realized it was Ico, showing off and leaping from the tree. The previous thump, she realized, had been the fruit which now lay at his feet. He held more of the round colored food in his arms, and tossed a wide grin to Yorda, along with an apple.

"Thank you." Yorda smiled to him and bowed from her seated position. She worried afterwards that he might not've understood, but he smiled to her, grasping an apple in his hand, and plopped down next to her. If he hadn't been sure what she meant, he seemed content with the fact that she'd smiled.

The two munched silently on their fruit, taking in the cool breeze of the twilight-lit greenery around them. It was starting to get chilly, though, and Yorda shivered.

Ico would have too, if he didn't have the benefit of long sleeves.

He rustled next to her for a moment, and in a blink Yorda found herself wrapped in his poncho, though it was sideways and draped about her more as a shawl, so that it could cover her arms. It left a hole for wind to brush against her back, but it did help, and she smiled to Ico, though the night was starting to obscure the motions.

Ico was already yawning and leaning back into the clover while Yorda was still nibbling on her fruit. She found herself devoid of hunger, though, when she realized sleep looked so much more appetizing, and she settled into the dew-stained plants next to him. It was chilly, and wet, but probably the most peaceful Yorda had felt shutting her eyes in a long, long time. Though her jumpiness still got her, she knew the shadows couldn't come to her there, and she could sleep without worry or fright.

Somewhere in that place where she was still awake, she dimly felt an arm drape over her, and warmth draw near. And with that added comfort, awareness drifted away, and she melted sublimely into that warm embrace.

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Holy crap, language barriers are fun to write! Hard, and fun! Ohhh, my goodness, I may write more just so that I can play around more with that. x3

Yeah, so it seems I'm going to commentate on this anyhow. I chose Yorda's point of view (erm, 3rd-person limited, I think is the proper term) because..well, I got tired of _her_ being the mystery. Just thought I'd mix it up a bit ;3 plus, if I didn't make it from her point of view, then we'd've had to wait until the language barrier was gone and she could tell her past to Ico in some shoddy English. That wouldn't be nearly as much fun:chuckle:

Anyway, feedback is really what I'm looking for. This is a way different fic, really, than I'm used to writing (Ico is a way different game o.O) so I'd just like to hear what you guys thought. And maybe, if later in the sumemr the humor strikes me, I might come back to it and write some more. because that language barrier is indeed freaking fun:3 (I really should work on my FB fic though...15 chapters! I got them up to 15 chapters..and then just left! I am such a bad person ;;)


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